If im resting im not with me anymore
Its been very difficult to keep up the every week routeen of: 20 hours of work(6 at the least to get there), 3 studio classes and 3 critical studies(history, writing, and phycology)(18 credits), not to mention the 11+ hours I spend in the studio painting and drawing.
Its all a blur. And then there are the random more spontaneous things that i did this semester like picking flowers in the fall morning, got a new bed, went to bennys awesome Tides concerts, and the ny adventure, and stayed in the studio till quater of four, and made vegan blueberry pancakes, home for georges birthday, and resurching the great artists for hours in our library, made a snail dv video, wrote a letter to my gram, died by hair shades of pink, went gallery hopping on newbury with friends, read bits of jack kiroack and Nietzsche, bought a joahnna Newsome Cd, made sculpy jewlery that i hate, applied for Mass art gallery space with people, found a lovely coffee addiction, and who knows what else? What is to come Montreol? philly?
I am not sure what to expect at my review tommorrow. I think I am tiring of my snail theme possibly. Or maybe Im sick of oils toxic mud and guck that i feel i drown in like quicksand. Oil paint is loosing its pristeen frosting quality as i slip it around forcibly. My oil paint is begging to hate its existence. For some reasons i feel like a small child wandering around a store that sells only mens suits. I love to paint and there is no doubt of that but i think I need to change my pace a bit. I feel like i am holding something back.
I just want to sleep and run and do yoga, and watch movies in my pjamas and make little watercolor books by myself for a few days.
Its all a blur. And then there are the random more spontaneous things that i did this semester like picking flowers in the fall morning, got a new bed, went to bennys awesome Tides concerts, and the ny adventure, and stayed in the studio till quater of four, and made vegan blueberry pancakes, home for georges birthday, and resurching the great artists for hours in our library, made a snail dv video, wrote a letter to my gram, died by hair shades of pink, went gallery hopping on newbury with friends, read bits of jack kiroack and Nietzsche, bought a joahnna Newsome Cd, made sculpy jewlery that i hate, applied for Mass art gallery space with people, found a lovely coffee addiction, and who knows what else? What is to come Montreol? philly?
I am not sure what to expect at my review tommorrow. I think I am tiring of my snail theme possibly. Or maybe Im sick of oils toxic mud and guck that i feel i drown in like quicksand. Oil paint is loosing its pristeen frosting quality as i slip it around forcibly. My oil paint is begging to hate its existence. For some reasons i feel like a small child wandering around a store that sells only mens suits. I love to paint and there is no doubt of that but i think I need to change my pace a bit. I feel like i am holding something back.
I just want to sleep and run and do yoga, and watch movies in my pjamas and make little watercolor books by myself for a few days.